


Acute Sadness

by alliebird58



Series: Family Ties [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliebird58/pseuds/alliebird58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her mother had told her, weeks before this point, that the best thing she would ever hear after all the hours of labor, was the sound of her new child crying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acute Sadness

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry about this in advance. 
> 
> I have no idea where this came from, and the whole thing took me maybe an hour to write, that’s how formed the story was in my mind. Damn these two Scottish dorks.
> 
> Also if you think this sucks to read, just imagine writing it. I really must hate myself a lot.
> 
> Here be the angstiest angst ever. You've been warned.

Her mother had told her, weeks before this point, that the best thing she would ever hear after all the hours of labor, was the sound of her new child crying. So it takes Merida the span of eight heartbeats, full of exhaustion, to realize the room around her is silent.

Another ten heartbeats of silence and she can tell that her mother, who has been by her side the entire time, is starting to worry.

Five more heartbeats and she begins to panic. Merida is utterly exhausted and has lost blood - so much blood - from an incredibly complicated delivery that went wrong from the first second, but the fact that the healers and nurses maids are all crowded in the corner around her new baby scares her something fierce. Elinor is rubbing Merida’s shoulders gently, muttering words of nonsensical comfort, though the strained lines at the corner of her eyes gives away her worry.

And then the healer is walking over to them, and she’s saying something about being sorry and the baby had been gone for a couple of days already and would her majesty like to hold her before they have to take her?

Gone.

Her.

She was supposed to be holding her little princess right now. There are tears running fast down her face, as she frantically grabs for her mother’s hand, trying to get some sort of attachment, figure out if this is all real or some sort of horrible nightmare.

Her voice is sore and hoarse when she finally speaks, “I want to hold my daughter, but I want Mac here first.”

“Milady are ye sure? We still need to get you changed and cleaned…”

“Get. My. Husband. Now.” Her voice breaks on the last word, the tears stinging her eyes and clogging her throat.

The healer bows low, and a nurse maid is already out the door before she has risen.

When the doors to the large council chambers swing open, fourteen different pairs of eyes move towards the person in the entryway. The Lords of the clans have taken vigil, as have Merida’s three brothers, and many other members of the council. They have been in this room for almost 18 hours now, and the waiting has not been easy.

Macintosh sees a young healer in the doorway and judging from her size, and the band around her arm that indicates she’s in training, she can’t be more than 14. She bows low to the men in the room, though none of them care a whit about such formalities at a time like this. He looks into her eyes and he sees bone-weariness, and he ascertains things have not gone as well as hoped.

“My Lord, her majesty has requested you,” and the little thing turns and walks out of the door without another word. Mac races to catch up to her, firing a million questions a minute, is Merida alright? His child? What happened? Why did it take so long?

The only response he gets is that the queen is fine, though she lost a bit of blood so she’s quite tired. Her reluctance to answer his questions makes something in his stomach knot.

When they finally reach the entrance to his bed chambers, the nurses maid-in-training bows and gestures for him to enter. When he does, the first thing he notices is the nurses maids and ladies maids moving around the room, picking up different items here and there, washing their hands, somber and quiet in their actions, and the knot in his stomach tightens more. He notices the three healers off in the corner, murmuring among themselves and his breath catches in his throat. Everything is so quiet, except, Macintosh realizes, for the sound of quiet crying.

He looks towards their bed and sees his wife sitting up, still in a bloodied gown, with tears running down her face uncontrollably.

His heart nearly stops beating.

Lady Elinor is at her side, seated on the edge of the bed, brushing the curls out of her daughter’s face. Macintosh makes his way to Merida’s side with an almost automatic response and reaches out for her shoulder, slowly, as if afraid to startle her.

“Merida,” he says gently and she won’t meet his gaze and if anything the sound of his voice seems to make the tears fall faster.

“Merida, please…” Now there’s an edge of desperation to his voice. She slowly lifts her eyes to meet his and he is blown back by what he sees. Utter exhaustion, pain, grief, heartbreak. All written as plain as day across her features.

“Mac, I’m…I’m so sorry,” that was not the response he had been expecting.

“Why? What are you sorry about?”

“I couldn’t keep our little girl safe,” her voice breaks something harsh at the end, then Merida is crying harder than she ever has before, tears choking her words, burning her eyes and nose. Macintosh pulls her into his arms roughly, muttering to her over and over and over that she did nothing wrong (all at once he realizes that this is going to be another damn demon for her to wrestle with - not unlike the death of her father, and gods what he wouldn’t do to take away all of her pain). Mac is only aware of other people around them when Elinor whispers to him, “gently, dear, she’s sore,” and he loosens his grip slightly on his beautiful wife.

The healer - the same one as before - approaches again, asking if their majesties would like to hold their daughter for the first (and last) time. Merida nods against Mac’s shoulder, and he nods to the healer who walks back to the corner, as he helps Merida sit back up. He notices her wince in pain more than once and wonders just how bad it had gotten - if he had perhaps almost lost the love of his life and his newborn child.

He sits gently next to Merida on the edge of the bed, and the healer comes back over, this time with a little child wrapped in a bundle of blankets. She gives the bundle to Merida, and he feels the tears stinging his own eyes this time.

Their little girl is perfect, despite the obvious veil of death hanging over her tiny features. Merida is crying hard again, just starting at the wee child in her arms. By this point, all the nurses maids and ladies maids have cleared out of the room, no doubt to go get sleep after an exhausting day. The only people left besides Merida and Macintosh are but one healer and Elinor, and they both bow out of the room, giving the little family a chance to grieve in private.

It goes like this for minutes, Merida’s tears running unchecked down her face, Mac brushing tears from his own face every so often as well.

“Mac she’s beautiful, gods, she’s perfect….why is she gone already?” Merida asks him quietly, and the utter heartbreak and devastation in her voice causes a new wave of tears to come to his eyes. He reaches for the babe in his wife’s arms, and she passes their daughter to him wordlessly. As he looks down at the beautiful, perfect child in his arms, his own tears finally come in flowing waves. This should have been one of the happiest days of their lives. True, Merida had been extremely nervous and anxious about the arrival of their first child (so had he). But Macintosh knew that underneath all that had been a joy and excitement and it was ripped away from them so quickly - like a rug pulled from under their feet - and it wasn’t fair.

“Should we name her?” Came Merida’s quiet voice from next to him and he is startled out of his reverie. She is reaching for the little one again and Macintosh gently hands their little girl back to her.

“I believe t'would be appropriate, my love. If you want.”

Merida sniffs, and takes a shuddering breath, “we liked the name Eloise,” her voice breaks at the name.

“Aye, then that is who she will be. Our beautiful Eloise,” and then they are both crumbling together, tears and gasping breaths and heartache run rampant through the room, until there is a knock on the door, and someone letting themselves in without waiting for a response. Merida and Macintosh both glance up to see Elinor and the healer back again. The healer comes over, bows quickly, takes their darling daughter from them with a tear in her own eye, and quietly steals from the room.

Elinor remains though, and she moves to pull both of them into her arms. She does not cry - she allowed herself that luxury while in private. When she looks at the two of them, she sees years’ worth of age added to their eyes, and her heart goes out to both of them. She has never had to experience the loss of a child - let alone her very first child, and she can only wonder at the pain they must be feeling. She kisses both of them on the cheek, and heads out of the room - figures it would be appropriate to inform the lords and council members and her three sons of the news (they won’t be uncles today. She doesn’t get to be a grandma yet. Her heart breaks just a little.)

And just like that they are alone. Merida is still sitting there crying, starring off into nothingness and Mac realizes he cannot - cannot - sit still or he will break. So he takes to caring for his wife. He calls a ladies maid into the room, asks for a basin of hot water and the girl curtsies and makes to fetch the item. When she returns, water and towels in hand, she asks if there is anything else they might be needing, or if she can help in some way. Mac bites back the urge to say that what they need is to be holding their precious baby girl, but he stops that thought quickly, and just gives the girl a firm “no, thank you,” and she takes her leave.

He busies himself with helping Merida out of the bloodied gown, helping her wash up and getting her situated in a new nightdress, even going so far as to change the sheets on the bed. But when she is all situated again (she had remained quiet the entire time) he is at a loss for what to do. Merida senses this, somehow, and reaches out for him, pulling him into the bed next to her, and they both allow the exhaustion to overtake them.

This is something they will never be over, he knows at once, and the next few days (weeks, months) will be hard. But he is confident, as he stares at his wife by his side who has finally succumbed to sleep, that they will make it through this. They’ll just have to learn to breathe again. Together.


End file.
